


And You’ll Ask Yourself

by slendytheperfectman



Category: Blur (Band), Oasis (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blur/Oasis don’t exist, M/M, Out Off Character, Set in the 90s, mentions of abuse, sad boys being sad, warnings in notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29211189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slendytheperfectman/pseuds/slendytheperfectman
Summary: The last thing sixteen-year-old Liam Gallagher needs is for some posh twat from London stay in his family home. But school is persistent on the exchange, and maybe, just maybe, Liam might enjoy himself.
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Liam Gallagher
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. With Your Feet On The Air

**Author's Note:**

> this will have a mix of smut and angst, nothing really happens in the first chapter.
> 
> Title - “Where is my mind?” - Pixies
> 
> **NOT PROOFREAD**  
> ~check notes at beginnings of chapters for warnings~
> 
> •underage drinking/smoking   
> •mentions of drugs   
> •mentions of abuse

Ripped up pieces of paper fall to the floor.

Fuck school. Fuck London. Fuck whoever ‘Damon Albarn’ is — probably some ugly, tory twat anyway. Fuck life. And fuck Mrs Reagan for planning this whole exchange.

Liam runs a hand through his hair, he’s out of fags, his lighter ran out hours ago and now he’s sat alone in some bush. He sighs, falling to his back and letting his arms rest above his head.

Fading bruises paint his pale skin an arrange of colours, he’s not too bothered by the blemishes anymore, the stares don’t faze him. _Let people stare._ His older brother, Paul, would say. _We all have our imperfections._

He turns his head, stares at the empty bottle of Jack Daniels, has he really already downed that? Noel would kill him, so much for sharing.

He runs a ringed hand over his face, going over random scenarios that could happen with _Damon Albarn._ The name sounds posh, must be a proper shandy pants. He smirks at that, imagining this ‘Damon’ standing in the doorway of his council house. “ _Oh,”_ he would say. _“Lovely place, Mrs Gallagher.”_ Liam tilts his head, the twat is more than likely going to lock himself in the bathroom, cry over the half empty bottles and demand to be taken home in his fancy car.

Liam does laugh out loud at that, Jarvis Cocker once sang about wanting to live like common people, he’d like to see how true that is.

He lays there for a few seconds, maybe minutes, making up scenarios makes the situation a lot better. But soon his tipsy mind starts to come up with all the bad scenarios, this Damon could be a proper wanker. Could insult his Mam, make her cry, he can’t have that.

The sudden though of his Mam makes him realise he’s late for tea. The skies dark now, his Mam’s gotta be worrying. He heaves a breath as he rolls over, pushes himself to stand on trembling legs.

2 weeks. 14 days. He can’t wait. Except he most definitely can.

How long does it take to drown yourself? He has to know, for science purposes, obviously.


	2. And Your Head On The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the day before the exchange and Liam’s feeling angsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make chapters longer, last chapter was only 326 words — sorry!
> 
> *NOT PROOFREAD** (when is it ever though?)
> 
> 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  
> ⁞ ❏. alcohol/drug use  
> ⁞ ❏. homophobic language

The house was silent. Even as Liam carefully shut the door — slowly, with the handle pulled down, making sure it made no sound other than a soft _click._ The house was silent, and for once, it wasn’t a good thing.

He had entered through the back door, being to lazy to walk around the whole estate just to get to the front door, that they rarely used. He walked through their small kitchen, magnets of cheesy quotes (i.e _alcohol may be a man’s worst enemy, but the bible says to love your enemy_ ), a couple pictures of the family — with dad, without dad (mostly without), with mum, without mum, the three of them, or not, all the pictures where the same, forced smiles, scared eyes. 

He noted how that nights washing hadn’t been done, half-eaten plates of food next to numerous bottles of beer.

_1, 2, 3..6, 7, 8, 9._

Nine bottles of beer, and he was sure there were many more in the other rooms of the house. His heartbeat quickened as he thought of everything that could’ve happened. He had wanted to quickly come home after realising he had missed his tea, but he ended up dawdling around for another hour or two afterwards, distracted by the weirdest of things, vandalising random fences, too.

He looked at the clock, places right above the closed door, which led to the houses hallway. _9:01pm._ His curfew was 7:30, they had their tea as soon as they got home from school, around 5:00, but after they’d be allowed out again, but he was over an hour late. 

The silence suddenly made sense.

”Mam! Mam, where are ya?” He yelled, hoping for a quick response. “ _In the living room, ya daft cow!”_ He was met with silence. 

He hesitated before opening the door, hand outstretched but not quite grabbing the handle. He took a deep breath, in and out, and finally opened the door.

Nancy, his tabby cat, was sat at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. Green eyes wide, pupils like slits, she hissed at him before running past him and into the kitchen. He wanted to follow, instead, he shut the kitchen door and took a couple of steps forward, turning to he left and staring down the door to the living room. 

Breath, in and out.

He grabbed the door know, standing up straight and puffing his chest, he wasn’t scared.

He pushed the door open, eyes widening at what he saw.

His Mam and Noel all sat on the sofa, giggling at some programme on the telly.

”What the fuck?”

”Language!” Three sets of eyes landed on him, Noel’s head tilting in confusion at the raging look on his brothers face.

”Whats wrong with you?”

”’W-Whats wrong with you?” He stuttered, mouth gaping at the sheer audacity. “You didn’t answer me, is what, I thought-I thought-“

”You dooehght what?” His Mam’s accent was still as strong as the day she left Ireland.

”I thought summat had happened.” 

Their gazes all softened at the realisation of why the sixteen-year-old was so worried. His Mam manoeuvred her way further away from Noel, opening her arms, beckoning for her youngest to sit between them.

”'e's naht 'ere, lahve, we're fine,” She hugged Liam to her chest, Noel’s hand awkwardly rubbing his back. “I dooehbt 'e's combing back 'ahme fahr a while.”

Noel’s whole body shook as he nodded in agreement.

”Yeah, me an’ Bonehead saw him earlier, we did, pissed of his tits!” He patted Liam’s shoulder pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Nothin’ to worry ‘bout, are kid.”

Liam couldn’t see it, but he knew his Mam had thrown Noel a nasty glare for his use of language. He smiled into the hug, wiggling around until he was facing the telly. He didn’t know what the programme was, but it looked like utter crap.

  
”When’s dat Damahn combing arooehnd tahmorrow?” She asked, eyes fixated on an, admittedly, very attractive actor. Liam sighed at the reminder.

”They show up at school at like, uhh, 4am but I don’t bring him back till, like, 2.” He answered, voice disinterested, if not slightly annoyed.

Noel chuckled at his brothers annoyance.

”Can I stay at P-“

”No.”

”Why?”

”’Cause I said so.” Was his Mam’s final reply.

”Do I get to sleep in Paul’s old room?” Noel asked, smug smirk on his face as he side-eyed Liam.

”Yes.”

Liam’s mouth dropped open in betrayal, when another thought crossed his mind.

”What if Da comes home?”

The room fell silent, only the sound of the crappy telly heard.

”I dahn’t know.”

_Just have to hope he doesn’t._

His Mam grabbed his hand, soothingly running her thumb over the back. A forced smile was on her face, fear in her eyes.

This was going to be a long couple of months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda crap, sorry!
> 
> I don’t know how to write accents, but I found an Irish Accent Generator for Peggy.
> 
> — I’ll never be able to do any accents justice.
> 
> Liam meets Damon next, what could go wrong?


	3. Try This Trick And Spin It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight to Damon’s day/night before arriving in Manchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the false warnings in the last chapter! I had an idea for the chapter but ended up not going along with it, so sorry for the confusion :(
> 
> No warnings for this chapter!
> 
> (Thanks for the kind comments, they really mean a lot to me xx )

Damon titled his head, watching in fascination as his Grandad slept. His snores were soft, but every now and again he’d make some sort of choking noise that had Damon on his feet, ready to wake the elderly man from his slumber.

His sister - Jessica, only thirteen yet the bitchiest person he knew - was sat on the floor, back resting on Damon’s shins, despite his complaints. She was eating a bowl of popcorn, the pops had found themselves on floor (“I didn’t put them there!”) standing out against the brightly patterned carpet.

His Mother was in the kitchen, and by the sounds of it, was washing up. He thought about going out to help her, his legs were dead against his sisters weight, and watching his Grandad snore was no longer providing entertainment. He clicked his neck, it wasn’t his turn to help his Mother, he could walk down to the local pub, persuade his Dad to buy him a pint.

He quickly disregarded the thought, it was a Friday, the chances of one of his schoolmates — “mates” — or evening teachers being there was alarmingly high. He didn’t need his Dad knowing about what he got up to at school. Damon was a good student, there was no doubting that, but he had his moments, and he wasn’t necessarily the most liked pupil either. 

He sighed, guess he was staying in. He shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Stop that!” His sister scolded him, he frowned down at her, playing with the end of one of her french braids.  
“Stop What?”

He asked, twisting the hair around his index finger. She grabbed her hair, snatching it from his grip. Her hair was the same reddish-brown as their Mothers, Jessica looked a lot like their Mum, now that he thought about it.

“That!” She told him, now turning to look at the tv, Austin Powers was the movie of choice, as it had been for the last week, since it came out on tv. The volume was right down, to ‘let his Grandad sleep,’ as if the man wasn’t already deaf. But even with the volume down and no subtitles, Damon could recite every word, and he was sure his sister was able to too.

“Damon!” His Mother called from the kitchen, not waiting for his response. “Are you packed ready? Not long left till you have to leave!”

“Yes, Mum!” He yelled back, watching his sister frown, his Grandfather, however, didn’t wake up — surprise, surprise. He had been packed for the last four days, so why his Mother was asking him now was way beyond him.

“I hope you’re staying somewhere really grim.” Jessica smirked, shoving another handful of popcorn in her mouth.

“It’s in Burnage, Jess, it’s hardly grim.” She turned, only slightly, to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re definitely going to get beaten up,” She gave him a once over. “Definitely, especially if you’re staying on the estate.”

“A lot of estate kids are nice, Jess, don’t be rude.” She scoffed at him, flicking an unwanted piece of popcorn in his direction.

“Yeah, a lot, but not most, and definitely not most around there.” She lent her arm on his knee, placing her chin on her arm to properly look at him. “A lot of their parents are from Ireland, proper rough them kids are.”

Damon knee she was only trying to scare him, but the idea that he was staying with a rougher family did make him anxious. He cleared his throat, linked his hands together and twiddled his thumbs.

“They’ll be fine, Jess, you’re just trying to make me paranoid.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She turned back around.

Damon stares at the screen, he’d be fine.

He’d be fine.


	4. Your Head Will Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon’s, finally, coming to Manchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO WARNINGS   
> **NOT PROOFREAD**
> 
> this is probs gonna be another crap chapter, so i apologise

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

His alarm clock chimes away, clattering along his bedside cabinet until it almost falls off the edge.

Damon would quite like to jump off the edge.

He squints against the darkness of the room, trying his hardest to read the numbers on the clock. He already knew, of course he already knew, he had been counting down the days — the minutes — of when this time would come, and now it was here. 12:02, Tuesday, 2nd February. The day was here and he was only 20 minutes late...

_”Shit!”_

He, rather inelegantly, rolled (fell) out of his double-bed. Cocooned in his duvet he resorted to thrashing around, like a fish out of water, until he had escaped the confines of his warm duvet and was now left, in nothing but his boxers and thin shirt, laying on his bedroom floor.

He could here his parents downstairs, rummaging around. Why hadn’t they thought to tell their son — who had to leave in 10 minutes — to wake the fuck up? He pushed himself up off the floor, throwing his duvet onto his blue sheets and stomped to his wardrobe.

His sister banged against the wall separating their two rooms, his bed slightly shook at the force.

_”Be quiet, you prick!”_ Is what she would say if their Mother wouldn’t chime in about ‘crude language.’ He threw a backwards peace sign at the wall, she couldn’t see him do it, but she definitely knew he had, and that’s what probably persuaded her into banging against the wall 2 more times.

Damon threw a random shoe at the light switch, unsurprised when his dodgy aim caused him to completely miss. He huffed, too lazy to walk to the light switch, he opted to changing in the dark.

He felt around his wardrobe, pulling out, what felt to be, a pair of jeans and a crinkled jumper, that he recognised as his white jumper that had pink, blue and purple stripes on the upper arm. He shrugged and pulled the clothing on, it’ll do.

He leapt over to his door, face scrunching in pain when he collided into his suitcase. Fortunately, nothing fell, however, his Mother opening his bedroom door — and therefore putting a door handle to his hip. He made his discomfort known by letting out the ugliest cry of pain, hands holding where his skin throbbed.

”Oh, sorry, love!” His Mother squeaked, quickly shutting the door and retreating back down the hall and down the stairs. Damon leant against the door, his beaded necklace banged against his head, he ripped it off its hook, moodily placed it around his neck and the called his Mother, sleeping neighbours be damned.

”THIS IS WHY WE KNOCK!”

”I SAID SORRY!” Was her curt reply, from downstairs, probably the kitchen. He sighed, grabbed his suitcase and opened the door, without any further injury. He trudged down the hall. He had five minutes to be at school, if he ran — which he’d have to — he could make it in just under that. He leant against the kitchen hallway, watching as his Mother pranced around, putting a sandwich in a plastic wrap and handing it to him.

”For the road.” Is all she said.

”We’re stopping at a station.” He reminded her, holding the sandwich out for her.

”It’s four hours, Damon!” She ran a hand over her face, slight wrinkles by her eyes from age — she was only 46. “Just-Just take it, yeah? If you don’t want it, then give it to Graham, God knows that boy needs to eat.”

Damon couldn’t help but smile at the mention of his best friend.

”Oh, would you look at the time?” She ushered him to the door, kissed his cheek and then watched as he ran down the road, calling out for him to be safe. “We love you!”

* * *

Despite his best efforts, he was still 6 minutes late, something their PE teacher seemed to enjoy reminding him.

”I wasn’t even the last to arr-“

”No back talk, Albarn.”

He sunk back into his seat, turned to face Graham, who had already fallen asleep, face smushed against the glass. He turned to he right, was about to start a conversation with Alex and Dave when he caught sight of Dave’s horrified face.

”Muenster is the most underrated cheese-“ Alex turned to see if Graham and Damon were sleeping, so Damon slouched in his chair and shut his eyes.

“-subtle, smooth flavor with a creamy and dreamy texture. Sometimes smoked...”

And that’s how he fell asleep, to a bus of tired, screaming year 11s, Graham’s deep breathes and Steve Alex James banging on about cheese.

What else could a boy ask for?

A good housemate, apparently. Damon hoped to God that _Liam Gallagher_ was a sweet boy, Damon deserved that much.

* * *

They arrived to The Barlow Roman Catholic High School in the same way they had left. Kids sleeping, yelling and Steve Alex James ranting about cheese.

”Give it a rest, Alex.” Graham mumbled as he stepped off the bus. 

“Yeah, poor Dave must be traumatised.” Damon patted Dave’s shoulder before hopping off the step himself. It was only around 4am, so only slithers of sun could be seen from behind some miserable looking buildings.

“There’s over 1,000 types of cheese,” Dave muttered, eyes blank as he stared at the ground. “Everything I have learnt I had learnt against my will.” He looked like the shell of a man, pale and unaware.

”Ha ha ha, guys, very funny.” Was Alex’s reply, he held his arms above his head, clicking his back and making Damon cringe at the noise.

”Why’d they make us come so early?” Graham complained, sitting on Damon’s suitcase, despite his own green suitcase being not even a metre away.

“This is a Catholic school, they want to teach us all the rules and make sure we’re aware of how to behave.” Alex look like he was performing, like he had sat and memorise all the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. “What? It was literally in the letter, you twats.”

“Of course Cheese Boy would memorise the letter.” Both Graham and Dave giggled at Damon’s words.

”Oh, fuck off.”

“Ok.” And the Dave took his suitcase and walked inside of the school. Turns out, everyone was already inside.

”Shit!”

”Wait up!”

”Graham, take you own bloody suitcase!”

Damon only got a laugh as a reply. He grumbled, but reluctantly grabbed the handle of the green suitcase.

He hoped Liam was nice, the last thing he needed was to be staying with some self-involved prick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damon’s outfit as the same as in Beetlebum.
> 
> The drive from London to Manchester is around 4 hours.
> 
> There’s estimated to be around 1,800 types of cheese.
> 
> — Alex is a bit of a prick in this, but the tory bastard did it to himself —


End file.
